Picking Up the Pieces
by Jarald
Summary: What happens when the heart of a group is heartbroken?
1. Xander

Picking Up the Pieces  
  
Part 1: Xander  
  
Summary: What happens when the heart of a group is heartbroken?  
  
Setting: Three days after "Chosen".  
  
Rating: R for somewhat graphic sexuality.  
  
'Ship: B/X.  
  
Forward…  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I don't remember what town this is. I'm not sure I even really care right now. Anya's gone. Dead. She's not coming back. *That's my girl. Always doing stupid things.* God, it hurts. How do I go on now?  
  
I've put on a brave face the past couple of days, and to tell the truth, it wasn't so much a face. But tonight, it's hit me, hard. I will never see my Anya again. I'll never kiss her, hear her voice, make her pancakes.   
  
I feel so alone. God, why did she have to die? Why not me? Why couldn't I have been there to save her? Why did I do such a damn foolish thing and leave her standing at the altar, all alone? I should have married her – God knows I wanted to.   
  
Cold… It's so cold in here. Or is it just me? I feel like I'll never be warm again. The only warmth I have left in me is leaking down my face as suddenly I start sobbing again, wishing I could just hold her one more time, say goodbye one more time. I try to hold in the sobs, to keep them quiet – after all, Buffy and Dawn are sharing the room right next to mine.   
  
I just sit here, my arms wrapped around myself, rocking back and forth, back and forth, crying, feeling only the ache of loss. It feels like there's a hole in my chest where my heart used to be. God, I want to die.  
  
Suddenly, there's arms around me, a voice – Buffy's – whispering something in my ear. I can't make it out, but it helps. I lean against her warm shoulder and let go, drenching her shirt with salty tears. She just sits here, holding me, for a while, softly stroking my hair and whispering to me. Then she surprises me.  
  
She lifts my face with one hand, ever so gently, then leans forward and touches her lips to mine. It's feather-light, that touch, and fleeting, but I realize just what it is that Buffy's offering me. Comfort. Warmth. Something true and real and *here*. She's offering me an anchor against the pain, something to hold on to.  
  
God help me. Anya, forgive me.   
  
I lean back forward and kiss her. Desperately now, hungrily. For a moment, it's rough, painful enough to match the hurt in my chest, but she reaches up a hand and gently, slowly, strokes my cheek, and I calm. She reaches up with her other hand and starts opening the first button on my shirt as we kiss again. I can smell her hair from here.  
  
I never imagined, in my youth, that it would be like this with Buffy. I always thought it would be wild and tameless, all over the place and fast-paced, not this slow, tender progression.  
  
She has my shirt all the way unbuttoned now, and she's lifting one of my hands to the top button on hers.  
  
I can't help but think back. Faith was my first, but that was quick, done almost before I realized what was happening. Anya was far better, once we worked out what it was exactly we were doing. I love Anya… no, I *loved* Anya. She's dead, and I'm here, with Buffy.  
  
My fingers brush a nipple, erect with arousal (or is it just the cold in the room? Surely she's not really interested in me like that). Buffy lets my mouth go, and plants a kiss on the corner of my jaw, one on my neck, another down to my shoulder. Then she's pulling my pants off, then her own, and I'm rigid as she pushes me gently down onto the bed and guides me in.  
  
We move together, slowly, easily. It feels right somehow, like this is where I should have been all along. I surprise myself, when, at the climax, I call out her name, and not Anya's.   
  
---------------  
  
It's nearly sunrise outside, and Buffy and I are still curled up together, her body warm against mine. As the first light of dawn touches the sky, I stroke her hair and silently thank her for saving me last night. I think without her, I would have been lost for good. There wouldn't have been any way for me to bring myself back.  
  
I love mornings. It's a new beginning, each day. And as I softly stroke Buffy's hair, I listen to her breathe slowly and peacefully in sleep and I realize that the hole in my heart is maybe just a little less empty today.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Finis.  
  
Author's Note: Well, here you have it: proof that at heart, when I'm not a W/Xer, I'm a B/Xer. :P If you have anything to say, feel free to post a review or email me. I'll try and respond to emails as soon as I can, but it might take a couple of days, so be patient. I accept comments, even criticism as long as it's constructive, but flames will be deleted without response. Have a nice day!  
  
- Jarald. 


	2. Buffy

Picking Up the Pieces  
  
Part 2: Buffy  
  
Summary: What happens when the heart of a group is heartbroken?  
  
Setting: Three days after "Chosen".  
  
Rating: R for somewhat graphic sexuality.  
  
'Ship: B/X.  
  
Forward…  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I can't stand it anymore… hearing Xander sob alone in his room at night. For three nights he's been like this. For three days he's shown us all a different face, laughing and smiling and pretending his loss isn't ripping him up inside.  
  
Dawn's asleep already. She has been each night. He seems to know that it'd hurt her too, if she heard him crying, so he waits until he knows she'd be asleep. That's just like Xander. Always considerate.   
  
I know why he does it – why he laughs and smiles and jokes with the rest of us during the day. I know why he cries his eyes out at night. For Xander, joking is coping. I think, though, that this is too much for him. I know what it's like, what he's going through. I know the gut-wrenching, heart-ripping pain that comes with losing a loved one. I still tell Angel to close his eyes in my dreams, sometimes.  
  
But I also know that it passes. It eases, in time, but first, there's the top of the hill. Before things get better, sometimes they have to get worse. Sometimes you need a reason to go on before you can really start to fight.  
  
I can't stand hearing the pain in his secret tears anymore. I have to do something. I have to help him. After all, he's Xander, and I love him. I always have. We all have, even Giles, though I doubt my ex-Watcher would admit it. Like it or not, Xander Harris has always been the heart of the Scooby Gang. I can't leave him like this anymore, can't leave him to face another night on his own. I think it might kill him, inside.  
  
I know what I have to do. And somehow, strangely, it's something I've always wanted, just never admitted. I guess I'm more like Giles some days than I like to admit. I stand up slowly and move quietly to the door, being careful not to wake Dawn. I don't want her to hear his pain.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Xander's asleep, now. I'm still awake, holding his sweaty body against mine, my head on his chest. One arm's draped over his waist, the hand resting on the small of his back. The other hand is gently stroking his hair. His arms are wrapped around me, holding me close in a firm embrace. I never imagined he'd be this gentle asleep. He's like a child, now.  
  
I'm just glad he's not crying anymore.  
  
My mother once told me that we all have one chance, one great love waiting somewhere out there for us. When it comes, you'll know it, and if you screw it up, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. I wonder, sometimes, if she wasn't talking about Dad when she said that. I think Xander Harris did find his great love. We may not have approved of Anya, exactly, but we all wanted him to be happy. I may ask him, someday, if she was. He'll probably say yes, with one of those quirky, I've-got-a-secret-and-I'm-not-telling sort of smiles of his.   
  
Was Angel mine? My one chance at epic romance? I don't know. I do know that I love him still, just as much as ever. We can't be together, though, and I suspect that my memory may be fading, just a bit. After all, in the old Angel days, I'd never have thought of anyone else like this. I'd never have done something like this – not even for Xander.  
  
Maybe he was, and maybe he wasn't. Maybe it was just young love, all fire and passion in the beginning, cooled with age and, perhaps, wisdom. I know I'm not the same girl I was seven years ago when I first met him. I just don't know. I feel like the only thing I do know is what I don't.  
  
But there is one thing I do know, for certain. I love Xander Harris. Whether it will prove to be something epic and great or something quiet and simple, I'm not sure. I don't think I even care, right now. Time will tell, and maybe Xander and I can build something from this. Maybe we can make it work, now.  
  
I hope he forgives me for rejecting him all those years ago.  
  
The sun's rising, heralding the beginning of a new day. I can feel the change in the atmosphere, as the world begins to awake, and Xander stirs in my arms. We're like two ships lost together in the night, holding each other close to have something near. I think things will turn out all right.  
  
I have hope and I have faith.  
  
And I have Xander.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Finis.  
  
Author's note: These two parts are pretty much intended as a standalone story. Now, this doesn't rule out the possibility of a follow-up, and my muse is already slipping me a couple of bunnies, but I've got a couple of other projects side-burnered at the moment, so no guarantees. Secondly, I realize that this doesn't exactly sound like the Buffy we all know and love, but I have two points to make. First, she's done a hell of a lot of maturing over the past seven years, especially in the last chunk of S7. Second, we've never gotten a direct look into her head – it could well be less airy in there than anyone's guessed. Third, there is no third point. I said two, remember? ^_^ As always, feel free to review or email. Feedback is much appreciated!  
  
- Jarald. 


End file.
